


Chasing The Phoenix

by FireflyAndTheStoryJar



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Dancing, Ethical Arguments, Guns, Inconsistent Behavior for Time Period, Kidnapping, Knives, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Chloroforming, Mild Skin Carving, Mild torture, Obsessive Behavior, Past Setting (1960s-ish), Persuasion - Freeform, Police, Religious Discussion (for like a sentence and a half), Vigilante Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24302953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyAndTheStoryJar/pseuds/FireflyAndTheStoryJar
Summary: "Did your daddy never teach ya how to cool off your drink before you went gulping it down?""Yeah, but I don't really care. It's not like getting shot or, I don't know, crushing a drinking glass in my hand," Ricky cackled at the scowl Tinsley gave him. Fuck this guy....Hey there! First full fic for both this fandom and on this site, so whoo hoo! I originally posted this story set on the BFU Amino, so I'm just compiling my work into a full story on here so it's not so spread out! I hope you enjoy it, and, of course, helpful criticism is always accepted.
Relationships: C.C. Tinsley & Original Character(s), Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley
Comments: 19
Kudos: 64





	1. Clued In

Fifteen years. Fifteen long years.

C.C. Tinsley had been hunting a killer for fifteen years. So far, that had been his whole career as a detective; hunting an elusive killer that had a knack for disappearing in the nick of time. As year sixteen approached, however, Tinsley could finally say that he was dead-set on Ricky’s tail and that they were coming to the end of their little cat and mouse game. The latest attempt of murder took him to sunny California; a woman claimed a tanned man with clean-cut raven-colored hair and golden eyes attempted to kill her with two knives. That was his man, the seasoned detective knowing his target's description and favorite weaponry by heart.

“How did he come into contact with you, ma’am? Did he come up to talk with you, or did he attack unprompted?” Tinsley asked the victim: a pale woman with dark red hair and green-hazel eyes, dressed in a dark purple corseted dress. The pair was alone inside her little home, sitting down and across from each other at a wooden dining table with cups of tea. It was a cozy little place, only having three bedrooms for her, her husband, and four children. It was pleasant, unlike the conversation we were having. Sometimes Tinsley wished he could live blissfully like many of the citizens he came with contact with, but his job kept him on the road and constantly searching for the worst humankind spat out. It... it just wasn't a life he could have and, for the most part, wanted.

“He... he came up to me... I was cleaning up the bar while my husband was paying our last employee in the side room where his office is... he seemed so nice...” She stuttered out, gripping her scarred neck with a shaky hand as a loose strand of dark red from her pulled-back hair fell between her eyes. He only nodded, writing down a few things in his notebook. Pausing to give her time to calm down and think clearly, Tinsley went over the basics of the attack over and over again, finding no apparent rhyme or reason as to why this woman was attacked, or, more glaringly, why Ricky let her go on living.

“What did he say to you that got you on the other side of the bar, Mrs. Applegate?” The taller man asked gently, looking back up at the woman. The fading light from the sun outside drenched the right side of her face in shadows, barely combatted by the faint light in the kitchen behind her. It made her looked so much more haunted, more fitting of what happen to her weeks ago. Scars like the ones on her body would heal when given time, but that scared and paranoid look in her eye? Not so easily fixed or healed with time. The poor thing...

“He said his wife was about to give birth and his car was stuck in the mud, so he couldn’t get to the hospital a few blocks away. He needed me to help his wife breathe while he got my husband to help him get the car unstuck. He looked so afraid that I... I had to help him. When I got closer to the door, he.... he...” Mrs. Applegate started to choke on her own sobs, quietly apologizing as she cried into a cloth she had gripped in her little hand. He stared at her as she cried, staying silent until she was ready to proceed again (he wasn't too good as consoling those in this state of fear). Pity and anger coiled around Tinsley's throat until he was positive that he wouldn’t be able to even utter a sound because of their combined iron grip. The woman was so young and had so much to live for, and Ricky... goddamn Ricky Goldsworth almost took the mother away from her children. It made the detective sick.

“I’m glad you’re ok now, Mrs. Applegate. Don’t worry, I’ll get him and make sure he never does this to anyone ever again.” With a murmured goodbye, Tinsley tipped my hat to her and stood up to head back to the inn room that he had rented for his stay in the growing city. Before he could walk fully out of the kitchen, though, he was stopped when she rushed to grab his shoulder. He looked over his said shoulder and down to her green-hazel eyes that were no longer scared. Surprise was a better word to describe the look in them now.

“You’re the one he wanted me to pass this message onto...” She said cryptically, letting him go to grasp her silver heart locket as he turned to face her once more. Raising a dark brow at the red-haired woman, the detective was a little more than just confused; Ricky’s leaving messages with his victims now? What was his aim there?

“How do you know to give it to me? Did he tell you my name?”

“No... No, that man... he said that if I live, tell the tall man with the light hair and a crooked tip of his hat this: Delta, Alpha, November, Charlie, Echo with the new moon shining on the distant creek. He said you’d know what time.” The woman’s message... Ricky had used that method once before. He left Tinsley a long note in code telling him where he was heading, hoping that he’d see him again. That was how the investigator was able to keep up with the serial criminal's antics when leads were growing cold on the Goldsworth case.

“That bastard... sorry for the language, ma’am, but I know what he means by that. You have a good night, Mrs. Applegate; you’ve helped me a great deal today.” Tinsley tipped his hat again in farewell and headed back to his small car, driving on the dirt roads of the small community until he hit the pavement of the growing city nearby.

“You wanna dance, Goldsworth? Alright...” Tinsley tightened his grip on the steering wheel, glaring at the darkening sky.

**"Let’s fucking dance...”**


	2. Case File #13: The Emmyline-Rogers Murders

“March 8th...” Tinsley muttered groggily to himself. The exhausted detective had a bad habit of speaking when he was writing. Something he picked up in college and had it pinned to his tongue ever since. Annoying in some aspects, sure, but there was nothing to be done about it. Digressing, he was on a case in New York City. It had been a double murder, the victims a pair of teen lovers found in the backyard of their shared neighbor’s home. Necks slit, posed as if they were shadows of a proposing couple. Blood soaked, white rose petals littered the scene; whoever did this had a love of theatrics. And he knew who that someone was.

_Ricky Goldsworth._

Having been stationed in Florida, there could've been no way in hell Tinsley would've been in the Big Apple if it had been someone else's dirty work. After reviewing the case with his superiors and all of them coming to the decision that the case was too similar to his other crimes for it to be anyone but Ricky, they sent the detective to help investigate. Upon arriving at the police station, he made his case to the senior investigators and chief, pointing out crucial pieces of evidence that were the deciding factors for his superiors' decision to send him in. It didn't seem to work at all though, and now... now he was writing a damn report in his small motel room at 12 in the morning because the idiots in charge of protecting this giant city seemingly didn't care about this crime being apart of the 'phantom’ killer's work (he wasn't a phantom, he’s a goddamn monster dressing like a human). On the surface, it sounded crazy, he knew that, but... Ricky's crimes were very real, especially to those who didn’t make it out alive. On top of that, these bizarre crimes were too goddamn similar to just be multiple copycats across the country.

A knock snapped Tinsley out of his writing frenzy, making him flinch and look back at the motel door he had entered through an hour ago. Scoffing in annoyance and slowly approaching the wooden exit, the pale man looked through the viewing hole to see who wanted him at the late hour. A shorter boy with curly blonde hair and in a bellhop uniform was there, looking bored and glancing around the halls as he held a black envelope. With a raised brow, Tinsley unlocked and opened the door a quarter of the way, the boy looking up, and his blue eyes waking up with mild interest. “Sorry to bother you sir, but a letter was dropped off for you.” He handed over the crisp letter, it smelling of bonfire smoke. The older of the two made a contemplative noise and slipped the letter into one of his trenchcoat’s many internal pockets.

“Who dropped it off?”

“The postman. He just told me to give it to a tall guy in a few hours. It took me a bit to realize you were the only tall fellow that was coming in tonight, so...” The teen shrugged, crossing his arms nonchalantly. Tinsley sighed and gave a nod as he started closing the door, causing the two males to part ways. He ripped into the envelope after he had locked the motel room's door back, raising a brow again as a pale piece of paper written in a reddish ink revealed itself. On the paper were multiple sets of words, and what he could guess to be a date and time. The one who had signed the note made his blood start to boil under his skin. _’R. Gold.’_

“Son of a...” Tinsley started, hustling back to the small desk in his room and looking through the random words and numbers Ricky had written on the dead parchment. “‘Hotel Echo Lima Lima Oscar’... is this phonetic?” He muttered in disbelief, picking out the first letter of each word. ‘Hello’ was clearly spelled out, so the detective quickly picked through the words and wrote the letters on a free sheet of paper he had on his desk.

> ‘HELLO, C C, HOW ARE YOU? IF YOU HAVE DECODED MY SMALL PUZZLE, CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE NOT AS DENSE AS I FIRST TOOK YOU. I THINK WE SHOULD MEET ONE ON ONE SOON, CONSIDERING HOW LONG YOU HAVE BEEN CHASING ME. IT IS YEAR FIVE, CORRECT? MEET ME AT THE WILLOW TREE AT THE TOWN SIGN ON MARCH 10 AT 2200 SHARP. DO NOT BE LATE. R. Gold.’

“As if you’d be there... you’re as elusive as shadows in the corners of my vision.” Speaking of which, Tinsley's hazel-greenish eyes were getting hazy from reading and writing for too long, and his brain was going to shut off soon if he didn’t go to sleep right then. Leaving the note desk, he cleaned himself up and got dressed for bed before flicking off the lamp on his nearby nightstand, plunging the small room into inky darkness. The tenth of March would come too slow, he just knew it.

The detective fell asleep, leaving the observer free to do what he so desired to. Cheap motels were pretty easy to break into, especially since the staff of this one always forgot to check window locks. Slipping in, the intruder quietly walked towards the lanky man on the small bed, the sleeper's deep breathing the only sound in his ringing ears. It would be so easy to just stab the jugular Tinsley had left exposed and be on the observer's merry way without the ball and chain. But... this one was different from the other ones who tried his case on for size, and even more different than the petty little insects he got rid of for fun. It was a certain type of low-level adrenaline that he liked compared to what he got on the regular. A relative calm in his otherwise stormy lifestyle.

From his own stalking, the watcher noted that this thing before him could hardly function without his case. From the not-so-subtle whispers of other investigators, they thought of Tinsley as an obsessive oddity— a broken record that kept chasing the same bloody tune to find the ending. If he wasn’t so... himself, the man might've felt sorry for such talk behind Tinsley's back. He guessed he did in a way, considering he didn’t want to kill the bastard just yet. The criminal looked the detective over again like he had done so many times before during his observations. The same light hair he had seen styled and put together earlier was now messy and unkempt here, and his light brown eyes were hidden under tired eyelids and framed with grayish-purple circles. It was the detective's normal, just more so. Though, even in the dark, he could tell Tinsley was lacking sleep (he always was, it seemed). With an exhaled breath serving as a silent goodbye, the intruder disappeared back out the window and closed it back the way it had been mere minutes earlier.

Tinsley didn’t do much the day after he received Ricky's note, just finished the report he had been assigned, and ran across town to deliver it, while also looking into what the other investigators had come up with for the unsub. Even though some of the theories seemed plausible in theory, the out-of-state detective was still dead set on this being Ricky’s latest crime. After that somewhat brief excursion, he returned back to his motel room and just kept looking over the note Ricky had left for him, wondering what he would do if he saw the killer. He had never gotten this close to catching Ricky before, so his brain and nerves were frazzled. The hours ticked off like they were days, the sun not setting fast enough for his taste. On the day of the nighttime meetup, the detective had barely eaten anything because of his anticipation, pacing a trench into the motel room’s carpet to keep himself from rushing out early. He hated waiting. He wanted— no, _needed_ to find this monster. He couldn’t let him continue murdering innocents.

Finally, hour nine arrived and Tinsley started rapidly heading to the willow he saw on his way into town. It was mostly barren far outside of the developing city, with only fields and road stretching as far as the eye could see opposite of the city's entry point. It made his throat tighten; what if he got killed out here? Would anyone know? Stubbornly, the detective dislodged that very possible reality out of his head as he parked behind the road sign, glad to be a touch early. Maybe he’d see him arrive and get the element of surprise if Tinsley was lucky. After a few minutes though, he got out of his car and walked to the willow when he saw a piece of paper flapping in the wind, held to the tree by a silver nail. He ripped the page down and started reading, feeling anger festering more and more with each word he skimmed through.

> ’Looks like you missed me, Tins. Though, I would really like to see you still. Not tonight or even this week, but still I’d like to see you. Maybe you can catch me in Oregon in a few weeks? That would be nice. See you then hopefully. —R. Gold.

“BITCH!” Tinsley yelled out in rage, crumbling the note in one hand and punching the willow with the other, not caring about the throbbing that started afterward. He couldn’t catch him now, not with the headstart the detective stupidly gave him! The best he could manage was to get to Oregon and tell his superiors the change in plans. That stupid little—!!

Something metallic hit the back of Tinsley's neck hard, causing the lanky man to fall forward onto the dusty ground below him. Turning his head, he saw someone cloaked in black stalking towards him, a round metal rod in one hand with the other outstretched to him. Panicking whilst still in a daze, Tinsley yelled out and tried to get up, but couldn't escape the dizzying pain and ended up falling on his back. He wanted to retaliate— oh how badly he wanted to— but the man couldn’t put up much resistance with his limbs going limp and his vision smearing colors together. The last thing the detective saw was the black-cladded assailant reaching out towards him before he slipped into watery darkness.


	3. A Gaze To Follow

“Dance by the moonlit water” couldn’t have been any more clear. After resting the night after questioning, Tinsley found a notice on the inn’s clipboard that read “Skylit Masquerade”, held at— you guessed it— a large house near a place called Starry Creek. It was on the weekend, so he spent the remaining three days of the week finding a mask and a tie (all his were plain black; he liked to be spiffy).

On the day of the dance, Tinsley tried to think through a few things: what Ricky wanted, why he wanted to see him of all people, and what he generally looked like. Starting with the first, the detective hit a few ideas before the brick wall; he’d either want to take him out so he didn’t have to keep running from Tinsley, or he wanted to gloat about the murders he had been getting away with. Besides that, he didn’t know what else. The second question had the same answers, with no luck in coming up with any other. As for the third... the brown-haired man had never seen the guy in his life.  Even after all this searching, no one had ever gotten pictures of the guy, just drawings and descriptions. Couldn’t blame them; cameras these days were new, bulky, and caused a big flash— Ricky would be long gone as soon as he caught sight of one. Those who met him and knew who he was rarely made it away alive.

But that changes tonight; Tinsley was finding him, and he was going to catch him.

After driving aimlessly in a town he had never been to before, Tinsley finally found the manor. It was black and silver (a rich man’s home, he noted bitterly), and several couples were walking in whilst dressed to the nines. Masks adorned their faces, some more of the theatre-like masks while a few were dolled up animal ones. The investigator had a plain black mask in the shape of a skull that kept his mouth free; it wasn’t exactly subtle, he knew that much, but it would've been worse wearing a kiddish butterfly or cat mask meant for children.

After he snuck in through the doors and melted into the crowd, the skull-wearing man tried to lay low and keep an eye out for a tanned man with dark hair and bright golden eyes (a task that would be proven difficult with how concealed some of the men's masks made their eyes). The band was at full volume, causing dancing to start and throw the room into pleasant chaos. It seemed guitar and drums were heavy tonight, based on the incoming song and its rabbit-fast tempo. He stayed against the edges like a wallflower, scanning for the one he had been searching for for years.

Finally, something caught Tinsley's soft brown eyes. In the middle of the fast waltz, he saw a dark-haired man in a red, orange, and yellow phoenix mask dancing with a young woman. When he stared a little longer, the wallflower saw the phoenix's golden eyes stick out harshly against the dark red section.

_'Finally got you, Goldsworth...’_ Tinsley thought, narrowing his eyes and pushing himself up off the cold wall to get his target. He made his way through the couples dancing, acting as if he was trying to join in. An older woman took his pale hand and started the fast waltz once the singer began, though Tinsley couldn’t register what the male was saying or what he himself was doing. He told himself he had to keep his eye on Ricky. During a turn, however, the ragged detective lost him in the sea of masked strangers and dimmed ballroom lighting. With a curt sigh, he switched partners a few times and kept looking for the elusive killer. 

At another switch, his shorter partner pulled him closer than Tinsley really wanted to be to a stranger. He snapped his gaze back only to see a brightly colored phoenix looking right back at him with dangerous gold eyes. With a soft gasp, he spun the surprised official a few times, taking the lead easily before he could protest. Ricky intertwined their fingers after the final spin, keeping Tinsley locked with him with a tight grip. He glared daggers at him as Ricky moved his face closer. Well... he was trying to move his face closer, but he was significantly shorter than him. Still didn’t change the fact that his exposed mouth was grinning at Tinsley like a madman. That’s when he started singing along with song playing in the background, making the investigator's skin crawl and his heartbeat quicken in an almost alarming way.

“Why don’t you show me a little bit of spine you were saving for his mattress... love.” Ricky sang with a teasing edge before he winked, making Tinsley almost stop dead in his tracks. His chest felt tight and his face was warming up, coupling with a rapid heartbeat and a stomach feeling full of flying bugs. Trying to stutter something out was impossible, made even more so when Ricky spoke again, his voice low and clear in spite.

“Outside after the next song, Tins. I’ll see you there...” Like that, he spun off to the next partner and left the utterly surprised tall man in a jaw-dropped daze.

_ ‘Shiiiit!! What the fuck, what the fuck?! What am I doing? Oh shit...’ _ Tinsley  tried to breathe as he went to stand at the edges of the main dancing area again, mind racing a mile a minute. What had occurred had been completely out of the blue, but now he had a chance to get answers out of him in a few minutes... Tinsley was so close to catching him and finally getting the answers he had been craving to get for over fifteen years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! This has been fun! Thanks for reading so far, more updates are coming! The song referenced in this chapter was "Dance, Dance" by Fall Out Boy, so go give that listen! This song was the thing this story was inspired by after all!


	4. Case File #14: The Tinsley Kidnapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this is a dark chapter! Look at the tags and exercise caution! Have a great read! :)

“Come in, Mr. Tinsley. Let’s check in on that head of yours.” Tinsley slowly looked up from his journal to a doctor with graying hair, biting back a response to the tingle of pain that seized his lower head and neck. He motioned the detective to follow him through the examination room’s door, turning his white-cladded back to the incoming patient as he walked out of sight. Tinsley stood and followed him in, wincing slightly as a dull throb continued to pulse with his paced heartbeat. Ever since he was abducted, his neck had been in serious pain. When he awoke his first night, it had only gotten worse from being in a cramped, small box.

He’d... rather not talk about what she did to him...

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, sir...” The tall patient mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck sorely. The doctor only nodded, pointing to the clinic bench in the corner of the office as he closed the door. As Tinsley sat down and laid his journal down next to himself, he watched the medical professional start writing on a clipboard, his penmanship wild and erratic from the outside perspective.

“It’s no trouble, detective. The police station let me know that your case was of great importance. If you may, please take off that trench coat and tie so we can see the main issue.” The doctor replied, looking up with soft green eyes and walking towards Tinsley with a smaller flashlight in hand. Said detective tensed slightly when he approached, no longer having the height advantage he had when he walked in because of his seated position. Sometimes being tall had its comforts.

“Oh... okay.” Tinsley muttered dumbly, slowly shucking off the tan trenchcoat he always wore and started fiddling with the black tie wrapped around his neck. After it was gone, the doctor walked to his left side and started checking out what the investigator could only assume was a nasty bruise. It felt terrible, so it must've been bad-looking too.

“A nasty purple knot here... what did you get hit with?” The doctor asked distractedly, lightly poking at the epicenter of the throbbing pain at the base of his head. Tinsley hissed quietly before he could reply, causing the doctor to stop and write something down.

“I think a metal rod... it was a blur. She attacked me from behind...” He muttered through clenched teeth, the iron hot sting starting to ebb away with the answer. The professional nodded again and, after he finished writing, started tapping it once more with his pen, ignoring every time the detective flinched away from the pain.

“It’s bruised all the way through the muscles here, but the bone appears to be fine. Some pain medication should help you cope with the healing process. You’re lucky you didn’t get a concussion or any broken vertebrae from the attack. Any other wounds you need to have checked out?” The man concluded, finishing writing on the medical report and looking at him expectingly. Tinsley sighed and stood up to turn his back towards him, unbuttoning the white dress shirt and letting it fall down to his waist to reveal what else had been done to his body. The investigator didn’t really know what it looked like, but from the nurses gasping yesterday, he could assume it was a gross-looking gash.

“My lord... Mr. Tinsley, what happened to you?” The doctor, for the first time today, actually sounded concerned about Tinsley, and he could bet if he turned around and looked at the older man, he would see pity in his foresty eyes. Not that he was one to want sympathy (the opposite, actually), but he was a little relieved that the doctor wasn’t just a heartless man. Shrugging nonchalantly, he kept staring at the beige wall in front of him to focus on anything but the pain in his body and the set of eyes on him.

“It’s not important now. The nurses at the hospital said for you to check it out for infection.” Tinsley murmured quietly, curling his pale hand up into fists as he counted down the seconds. The slash wasn’t incredibly long; he could feel it starting at his mid-to-lower back and lessening in pain as it reached between his shoulders (She hadn't been going for too much blood). The doctor silently inspected it, his writing abruptly loud in the silence of the clinic office.

“It doesn’t look infected. However, I would clean it with alcohol when you get home just to be on the safe side.” He advised, moving to Tinsley's left to catch the man's tired eyes. He gave a nod, hurriedly fixing his appearance back to the way it was before the check-up. He signed a prescription and sent the patient out, handing his journal back from where he had left on the medical bench on the way out. Tinsley could get the medicine later; right now, he really just wanted some sleep. He didn’t get a wink of it yesterday, having been stuck in a questioning room for hours after they found him. He didn’t have much to offer. Being in a box for several hours of the day limited how much you knew about who put you in said box.

He never realized how bad questioning could be...

When he got home, the detective locked his apartment's door and closed the curtains to the only windows he had; he usually left them open prior to his abduction, not thinking about it like he probably should’ve. As much as Tinsley didn’t want to be in the dark, he didn’t want anyone to see me so... off my rocker even more. He  needed to sleep. Maybe then he’d finally start to feel like himself again. Slowly, the shell of a man walked towards his room, feeling like he was drifting through a thick haze that wouldn’t leave him alone. It wasn't that bad, though, an almost welcoming fog that he was associating with sleep as of late.

A shrill ring shattered the fog, however. He paused and looked down the hall as it died, trying to place the sound. It rang again, and Tinsley was finally walking towards the kitchen; it was his phone, that was what it was. He picked up the dulled black receiver, sliding it up to his left ear gingerly. For a moment, only live static filled his ears. Then a voice started speaking.

“Hi, Tins... glad to see you’re home safe. It was such a shame that we couldn’t meet after my case in New York. Sorry to have a little fun in your absence... I didn’t realize you were gone until after the second case.” A voice bubbly and chilling at the same time filled the silence, the words much worse than the haunting tone. This couldn’t be him... it just couldn’t... how did he find his number?

“Who are you... how did you know about the New York case...” A laugh replied to Tinsley's careful questions, it full of an energy that just seemed so wrong at the moment. It didn’t fit the situation at all.

“Oh, silly detective... I think you know who I am. As for the case, I was apart of it. The roses were my part, though the blood was way too cold to do anything more creative. But that’s beside the point. I called you to let you know that the Oblivion Killer’s clients won’t be looking for you.” Tinsley froze at the mention of her so-called title, memories flooding over him quicker than I could stop them.

[C]———

It’s stuffy in here. I can’t breathe well. My knees are digging into my chest and I can’t lift my head up. I’m stuck in something, sitting down in a tight ball and in something that smells of old wood and blood. I hate it.

“Help!! Someone! Anyone!!” I scream, banging on the box the best I could with my clenched fist. No one responds. My neck throbs with intense pain, only amplified by the angle of my head this thing is imposing. I hate this. I want out. Why am I here?

“Let me out of here!! Please!!” I scream again. Someone opens a door somewhere in front of me.

[C]———

“She’s dead, detective... no need to worry about a little monster like her anymore.” Ricky broke through the flood of memories, his voice even more unnerving than before; even more than hers when she was watching Tinsley try to sleep. It held an edge he couldn’t place, but who cares? Things were popping up because of Ricky's constant reminding that the detective couldn’t focus on what was happening right now.

“Don’t... shut up... don’t say anything,” Tinsley whispered desperately, his head becoming encased by the flood again. He didn’t want to remember. The hours of pain and bright light and total darkness. The three agonizing weeks of torture and not knowing if he’d ever get out. "Stop talking about it."

“I found out about your disappearance when you didn’t show up at the station. You had been gone for three days. I went back to New York. I searched for another week. Found out that a sick little insect had been following you more... secretly than I do. Your long legs made you a target, you know.”

“Shut up!!!” Tinsley screamed hysterically, hearing her voice again as he sank back into that position she forced him into. _'No no no no..._

_ 'Nononononono' _

[C]———

“Stand, boy. Let me see if you’ll be worth the sale next week.” She demands again, the tip of her long knife pointing at my eye. I shiver at the idea of her previous promise to blind me. I do what I’m told, standing as straight as I can so she doesn’t give me another scar. My limbs still hurt from the game she played earlier, and everything was aching from the two-hour session. Her face is under a gas mask, and her eyes are hidden under fiery orange-red goggles that don’t reveal the true color underneath. Her voice is gruff and muffled after she’s done circling me.

“I knew you’d be perfect. My clients have specific tastes in people. I can finally mark off the tall order... now get down. It’s time for another game.” I start shaking, not moving. That is the wrong move. She is behind me.

“I... said... DOWN!!” A quick slash up my spine is enough to make me crouch into my small box, a pathetic sound escaping my lips as I do so. It feels like a rod of bubbling iron is attached to my back, burning off my skin.

“Good boy... now. Let’s play.” My box darkens again. It’s impossible to hide from the quick stabs that enter through the thin slots of the wooden shell, puncturing my arms, back, and legs in quick succession. It keeps going and going and going and going and going and—

...

[C]———

“I led the police to you, Tins. She didn’t win. I took care of her.” Again, that voice broke through the flood. Tinsley blinked and found himself on the floor and in that tight fetal position he had been doing for weeks, the phone lying loosely on his shoulder. Ricky was still there. Why was he telling him this?

“...Why do it? Why save me... y-you almost got rid of me.”

“...I don’t like it when other monsters take what’s mine. If I wanted you gone, I’d do it myself. Besides, the girl was dull; she killed those teens and left without any decoration. If you’re going to be extra with your deaths, at least put some pizzazz into it.” He said matter-of-factly, but Tinsley didn’t respond. He didn’t have the energy or resolve to continue entertaining Ricky's mind. He thought the criminal was bored since he broke the ensuing silence first. He did it in a way the detective didn’t think he would, though.

“...You should sleep, Tinsley. Can’t have my little detective chasing me when he’s a shivering wreck.” Ricky said quietly, almost sounding, dare he think it, worried about him. Tinsley attempted to decipher his tone, but his brain was buzzing with the need to sleep, so he didn’t think about it for too long.

“Yeah... yeah, that might... might be a good idea.” The detective agreed mindlessly with the killer, staring at the dull gray wall ahead of himself. It did sound like a good idea, which was weird considering what he did to people.

“...Goodnight, C.C...” Click. And, just like that, Ricky's voice echoed in Tinsley's overactive brain after he left him to remember on the kitchen floor. After what felt like hours of sitting on the cold floor with the phone’s droning nothingness, the broken man stood up slowly. The pain of his body and neck reminded him that he was still here, still in his home.

“God damnit...” Was all he could say, hating how pathetic and croaky his voice sounded. He sighed as he walked to his darkened room and collapsed onto his bed's chilled blankets, thoughts stalling to a weak halt. Why did any of this happen? First the girl... now a serial killer helping Tinsley, a persistent detective hellbent on bringing him in?  Before he could think more on it though, his hazel-green eyes slowly eased shut and he was floating in darkness again. Nothing horrific made itself known in the silent compartment of his dreams, which he was grateful for. Hopefully... hopefully, he can get himself back to normal. He didn’t want to remember anything from the abduction.

It was best that Tinsley didn’t remember everything; he probably would’ve cracked if every detail was captured in his memory.


	5. Checkmate

Tinsley felt ill to his stomach, and his head was surrounded by clouds of utter chaos. He didn’t know why he felt so... so... what was the word? Excited? Afraid? He wasn't certain, nor did he want to get into it. Whatever the emotional cocktail he had shaking inside him was concentrated fully on the upcoming confrontation. After Ricky had spun him around and made those... gross looks at him, he hadn’t felt... right. Maybe it was because Tinsley was so close to getting answers that he was overanalyzing something that didn't need to be analyzed. Again, he didn’t know— he just wanted this to be over with.

He walked out behind the house early, with the song already on its final legs anyway. Maybe now Tinsley would be able to catch Ricky off guard and end this game before it started. Then again, the guy seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time, so the mastermind could’ve been already ready for him. He didn’t have his revolver, which was stupid a stupid move for a detective trying to find a murderer, but it slipped his mind. The adrenaline of finally just being able to see him face to face got to Tinsley so badly that morning. Just add that to the list of things going wrong, he guessed.

“A bit of a rebel, are we, Mr. Tinsley?” Came a low and cocky voice from behind the tall man, making him whip around with clenched fists. Ricky was leaning against the house wall, his mask off and his golden eyes almost glowing in the dark of the night. It threw Tinsley off, so he stood there in awed silence and studied his features. Moderately tanned complexion, entrancing yellow eyes, dark brown or black curled hair. He chuckled lowly as he approached, making the paler and taller of the pair back up a little, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

_'Man up, Tinsley! Or you’re dead meat!’_

“Cat ate your tongue? Or am I just that breathtaking, Tins?” He gave a toothy smirk, finally pulling the dark-eyed man out of my daze. Narrowing said dark eyes, crossing his arms as he sneered angrily at the man on the run.

“Why do it? Why kill people for no reason? And why lead me around? Why bring me here?” Tinsley fired off the questions like they were poisonous and he needed to spit them out to stay alive, looking down at him with all the malice he could summon. Ricky rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, looking almost bored (how fucking dare he?) with the reaction.

“It’s always fucking ‘why’ with you people... and here I thought you would rough me up first; sock me in the jaw, pistolwhip me, something. That would’ve been a nice change.” He frowned as he glanced into the distance. If the investigator didn’t know better, he’d actually feel bad for Ricky based on the kicked-puppy look alone. Then his look of pure evil came back and there was no room for doubts.

“But anyway, I say this back; why not? I get fame, a bit of money from my connections, and a very free life. As for you...” The criminal came closer and yanked on Tinsley's tie sharply, causing him to let out a grunt as he was pulled down to eye level. He dug his fingers into the man's shoulder to keep him firmly in place, their eyes locking onto one another. Tinsley could’ve kicked him, punched him, anything... yet he didn’t. He didn’t know why.

“You’re very interesting to me... what with your determination to get me and solve my crimes, along with your pleasant looks, I’d say you’re the most... valuable thing I own.” Ricky said with a chuckle, the words having such an air of confidence that it almost made the detective miss that last part. ‘Own’ him? What kind of fucked do you have to be to say something like that?

“You don’t own me, you bitch.” The out-of-breath man huffed out, unable to say much more after that since he pulled the tie again to the point where it was near choking him. Ricky only grinned wider, enough to make spines crawl with dread, and cause Tinsley's face warm up.

“I guess all things have to have something to show ownership. Thanks for the reminder, Tin.” With that, there was a sharp knee to the gut that was followed by a rough push. Tinsley gasped breathlessly as his back hit the hard grassy ground, making his vision darken with hazy black dots for a few moments. When he regained his bearings, he found Ricky was on top of him with my wrists pinned above his head in one hand and a golden knife in the other. He struggled to get away and scream, freezing in both attempts when the cold metal pressed into the most vulnerable part of the neck.

“Stop struggling, or I’ll mess up. Don’t want to scar that pretty little face of yours.” Goldsworth warned, applying a little pressure on his neck to show he was serious. Tinsley swallowed hard against the blade and didn’t move, not even after the maniac laughed and pulled the knife a little away. They stared at each other for a moment before he pulled off the skeleton mask and scanned his face and neck. Tinsley felt his face heat up again, much to his utter confusion and cold dismay. He chuckled shrilly, making the man underneath him squirm and tug his at his restraint. Ricky wasn’t budging, and it wasn’t easy to move with his weight on his upper stomach. He was utterly damned if Ricky decided to dig his knife straight into the man's throat and down to his heart.

“I think the collarbone would be a good place... easy to hide, but hard to forget.” Ricky said quietly, shrugging and leaning over him more. Tinsley looked away from him as he struggled to get good air in, shivering involuntarily at the close contact. He smirked as he sliced the collar of the dress shirt downward, making the detective panic again. After a moment of heavy silence he stuck the knife into the skin just on top of the left collarbone, carving into the flesh deeply. He gave a sharp cry and tried to pull away and kick, the pain boiling up at the base of Tinsley's neck and bubbling down his chest.

“Shut up!! Stay still or you’re dying tonight!” He demanded in a deeply hushed voice, so deep it was more of a growl than anything, pulling away to glare at Tinsley with those hypnotic gold eyes. Tinsley stared at them for a moment before biting his tongue and looking away again, hissing and twitching now and again as Ricky continued to carve into the pale skin. The brown-haired official didn’t know what he was trying to carve, but he couldn’t care to try and figure out; the pain was too much to keep a single train of thought going. After another long and painful minute, he pulled away, licking the knife clean of crimson and smirking sadistically. Tinsley so wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face with a good punch.

“Now then... that’s much better, my gargantuan friend. I’m afraid our meeting is over though. Don’t worry... I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.” Still pinning his thin wrists to the ground, Ricky put his knife away and fiddled with something else in his pocket. Tinsley kicked and struggled as roughly as he could, not liking where this was going. Just as he managed to pull his hands free, something with a chemically sweet smell covered his mouth and nose. Recognizing it, he stopped breathing immediately and tried to lash out with a punch, determined not to be bested. Ricky pulled his head back to avoid the punch, looking annoyed with my yet-again revived defiance before he grabbed the detective by the hair with a free hand and slammed his head against the ground. Hard.

The detective took in a breath via gasp on a subconscious reaction to the disorientation, panicking as he realized his mistake. Tinsley struggled still, knowing he only had minutes left. Ricky pinned one of his hands down as the weakened man continued to fight through his slowly darkening vision. He could hear his heartbeat slowing and the world going silent after a few more moments of desperate fighting. The last thing he remembered was Ricky’s grin, then his laughter echoing in a now dark world.

**...**

Tinsley's head and throat were pulsing with his slow heartbeat when he woke up, making himself groan hoarsely and roll onto his stomach to avoid the bright light from a window. Cracking an eye open, he looked around the blurry room and struggled to understand where he was. Time felt slowed and things weren’t coming into focus quickly enough.

_'Think... where am I...?’_

Hotel room.... his, based on that his bags were around, clothes lightly strewn about from getting ready. He was on a case since a box labeled ‘Evidence’ was on the other bed across from him. He hissed as he shifted to sit up straight, his lower neck throbbing with a dull pain. When Tinsley touched it, rough, deliberate scars met his calloused fingertips. That’s when it hit him. All of it.

“Goldsworth...” Tinsley croaked out sourly as he threw off the covers and made his way to the bathroom mirror. He was met with his pale left collarbone being tinted a sore red color surrounding darker ruby writing. The writing (or rather, the scaring) was jagged lines put together to form the word ‘Ricky’s’. How did he get him here? And how did he know which room was Tinsley's? The fucking bastard...

Those were questions for later, no matter how disconcerting they were. He had to get home and tell his superiors what had happened. Walking out of the bathroom to get dressed and packed, Tinsley noticed an envelope on top of his evidence box. He picked it up and ripped into it, reading the letter with his clearing vision.

_ ”October 17th, 1967 _

_ Dear Mr. Claibourne C. Tinsely, _

_ It’s good that you’re a deep sleeper; otherwise, you would’ve woken up completely while we were in the lobby. Thankfully, your tired mumbling sounded like drunken rambles and the owner let us up. Now that you have a reminder of who you belong to, I hope that you find me sooner. Our meeting was so enjoyable, love. _

_ Until we meet again, _

_ Ricky Goldsworth” _


	6. Culture Shock

“What do you mean?! I’ve been doing this for too damn long to quit now!” Tinsley slammed his wide hands on the desk, standing up from the chair that laid in front of it. The police chief didn’t meet his eyes as she looked to the side, her own dark green orbs narrowed and stormy. She stood up slowly and silently, her uniform rustling against itself the only noise in her paper-covered office. After another beat of quiet, she looked up at him with a stern look.

“I’m serious, Tinsley, this case is killing you every time you go out! Just last month you were chloroformed; you could’ve been kidnapped again!” Her lightly aged face sat in an angry expression, her brown brows permanently tilted down in a disapproving look. Tinsley's blood ran hot at the idea of being kicked off this case. He was so, so close to catching him. He had gone in to show her the case the station had in their jurisdiction that matched Ricky’s M.O. when she broke the news to the older detective, spoiling any hope he had to corner Ricky and get some answe— I mean, catch him.

“I’ve almost got him, Mistlow. You have to let me finish this case!” He again urged, getting closer to her face as he spoke. She glared her eyes at him harshly at the move, making Tinsley lean away at once since he didn't want to push her more than he already was.

“Clairbourne... I cannot let you try this again, not with how personal this has become for you. Let the government officials take care of it now. Don’t make me do something I’ll regret.” Mistlow said in a low voice, her stance challenging and stern. With narrowed eyes and folded arms across his chest in response, he faced her challenge head-on.

“What if I tried again, Mistlow....”

“You’d be decommissioned and fired... Don’t do it...” Her olive-green eyes darkened further as her voice quietened, her fists unfurling from their clenched state. Her stance lessened into one of stoic hope, her face giving him every answer and none of them at the same time. He gritted his teeth as he felt his shoulders tense, considering what he wanted more: Ricky, or his job. If Tinsley lost this position, what would he do about Ricky then?

...if he stayed, however, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about him. If Tinsley chased the madman on the outside, he could continue and start doing things his way... and finally get some answers to everything he did to him and all those victims.

“...Then I guess I’m fired. See you around, Skylar.” With a huff of air, Tinsley sat his badge and gun down on the desk and turned, not listening to the chief’s protests. He didn’t bother cleaning out his cubicle when he grabbed his satchel and his personal file on Ricky off his desk; it wasn’t Tinsley's to deal with anymore. He walked into the light rain, crossing the barely lit parking lot until he made it to his car. After tossing everything in his arms into the backseat, the man slammed the driver’s door closed and drove off, his insides coiling tightly with anger and hatred. The nerve of those bastards! Their one case-obsessed detective just had to go because he was the only one that had Ricky in a corner, and now they didn’t want him being the one to catch the guy because he was more persistent than they ever were. Fucking typical.

“I’ll show them...” The now ex-detective pulled up near a dive bar a block away from his home, locking his car doors before rushing under the overhang to avoid getting drenched in the strengthening rain. Pushing through the glass doors of the smokey bar, he quietly made his way past a party of younger (and drunk) adults and sat at the edge of the bar counter. A black-haired man walked over, his tired and stressed face barely hanging onto a pleasant smile.

“What can I get you?”

“A double shot of whiskey please.” Handing over the cash, he watched the bartender turn and put it away before grabbing a bottle of the gold-colored liquid and pouring it into a shorter glass. He slid it towards Tinsley just as another group of adults came running into the establishment to escape the rain, all laughing and talking loudly amongst themselves. The barkeep’s shoulders dropped and he sighed, looking at him with an apologetic look.

“Don’t sweat it, I’ll be fine. They’ll be angry if you’re occupied with just me.” Tinsley nodded in the approaching group’s direction, getting a thankful smile in return before the man disappeared to the other side of the bar and started taking orders with an unparalleled quickness. He shook his head with a slight chuckle and took a sip of the cold liquor, clenching his jaw slightly at the burning in his throat afterward.

“Always a gentleman, aren’t you, C.C.?” Tinsley froze there in his seat at the voice, looking up slightly. He was there, right beside him. How didn’t he notice him walking over?

“Don’t be so tense. You should know by now I can’t do anything with this many people here. Then again, you should also know I wouldn’t do anything too bad to you anyway...” His voice was so cocky and aggravating that it made the taller's ears run hot with fury. He glared to his left to see Ricky's dark hair all curly and shiny from the rain, along with his golden eyes looking up at Tinsley with a grin. He was wearing a black jacket and a dark blue shirt, along with nicer pants and brown dress shoes.

“How did you even find me? Shouldn’t you be running away from the cops by now?” He spat the words out at him, looking away and taking a deep swig of the now very inviting bitter alcohol. Ricky rolled his eyes and put his elbows on the bar, clasping his fingers together and laying his chin on them.

“Saw your car driving by. As for that last one, they’re sloppy and lazy in their investigations; they won’t find me unless I want to be found. Speaking of which, why are you here instead of trying to get me? I didn’t take you for a ‘drink first, inspect later’ kind of detective.” He murmured with interest, raising his brows as if it was a normal curiosity in a normal conversation. Tinsley didn’t answer, feeling the different anger from before boil its way back up to the surface as he clenched the small glass in his fist. He took another drink, almost emptying it from the deep intake.

“Touchy on that subject, hm? I think I know what happened though... Not surprising, considering all the things I’ve heard your colleges say about you.” Tinsley looked to him at that, narrowing hazel eyes in suspicion. So many things were wrong with that sentence, the most disturbing being how he had been around him and his ex-colleges long enough to know what they spoke about.

“What are you impl—?“

“Shush or I won’t tell you.” Ricky’s low voice came out with an edge Tinsley was too familiar with, his pale hands twitching slightly and his mouth snapping shut at the words. A roar of laughter came from behind the pair, unfitting for the shift in their conversation.

“As I was saying... your fellow investigators and policemen didn’t fancy you very much; a jealous lot, they were. You were so close to having me by the hair... no one’s ever gotten that close. If I’m being honest... I’d say you sometimes had me worried.” Ricky murmured quietly, his voice serious and low. Tinsley didn’t look at him as he spoke, staring into the barely-there transparent liquid in his glass. He fucking knew it...

“Ms. Mistlow was the only good egg out of them, in my opinion. Then the majority of the department twisted her arm until it snapped; she gave in and told the government officials to work my case instead of you. Again, not surprising; she’s stubborn, but not an idiot. She knew if she didn’t stop you, she’d have a bigger issue on her hands.” He continued, his voice taking on an air of sympathy (obviously not real— he couldn’t have possibly cared) as he looked away and stared at the rows of bottled alcohol on the wall in front of him.

“Why are you saying all this? Why? I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with driving me up a wall.” Tinsley looked back up at him with a clenched jaw, hating every word he was spilling. He didn’t look back, though his eyes shifted downward and he gave a long sigh in response.

“I’m letting you know that you were doomed to be an outcast the minute you started investigating me. Every single investigator that focuses on me for too long either dies in the process... or gets fired because they’re basically dead weight. Take Ryan Flynn, the last person to track me before you; he was fired because the old chief couldn’t take hearing his theories about my motives.” Tinsley sat there in dumbfounded silence, ears ringing from the impact of his words. No... that... that couldn’t make sense. Flynn... he got fired for not doing his job...

“Before you try to deny what I know is right, take this.” Ricky’s tanned hand slid a recorder over to Tinsley, the black little thing hitting his arm with a soft thud. He picked it up and pressed play hesitantly, watching the murderer sitting next to him as he put the device to his right ear. As the recording started, they locked eyes and didn’t look away. The pale man wanted to, but Ricky's eyes were so unnatural...

> _"Tinsley’s back from the out-of-state case. ‘Parently he got drugged by Goldy."_
> 
> _"Fuckhead’s gonna get killed... we worked that case for so many years and got zilch besides a name! And what does that woman do? Lets the giraffe detective go get kidnapped while he’s travelin’ the country! Un-fucking-believable..."_
> 
> _"We gotta do something about him. He can’t just keep goin’ and showin’ us up."_
> 
> _"This whole side of the force wants the detective gone... he’s a fucking weirdo anyway, no one here will miss him besides that bitch of a chief. I’ll let the boys know what’s cookin’."_

**CRRRRAACCKK!**

Tinsley winced as he was snapped out of his furious, red haze, feeling sharp pains in his hand followed by a pooling warmness in his palm. The bar had gone quiet at the sound of some glass shattering, all looking at the shellshocked man with surprised and frightened stares. He followed their gazes to my left hand, seeing my almost empty glass was crumbling into shards of clearness in grasp. Glass shards were laced with blood as he stared at his loosening grip, and crimson was flowing and dripping onto the bar counter freely from his palm.

“Well... that was unexpected...” Ricky murmured, his voice strangely surprised and almost breathless. He gritted his teeth as he put the recorder down, laying his bleeding hand down on the counter so he could see how bad it was. Several shards of glass were in his hand, and a big gash in the palm was the main cause of all the life liquid sputtering out onto the bar.

“Sir, do you need to go to the hospital?” The bartender asked, rushing over and looking anxious at the sight of so much blood. Before Tinsley could reply, Ricky’s voice chimed in and cut him off.

“I’ll take him, he’s a friend of mine. Come on, C.C.” There was a strong tug on his upper arm that pulled Tinsley to his feet, the pain now surging through his veins and up to his shoulder. He followed quietly, following him without much thought. As they started walking down hazy streets, the rain soaking them almost to the bone when they weren’t under overhangs, Tinsley's head started to clear and he realized that I was following Ricky away from the hospital... or any active parts of town.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” He demanded, gripping his injured hand’s wrist tightly as he kept it close to his chest. He felt the warm liquid seep into his trenchcoat and dress shirt, and he nearly winced at the idea of having to deal with it when his hand was basically shredded ribbons. The older man didn’t get a response out of the murderer, just his shorter figure turning down a street corner and practically disappearing. He looked around as he reached the alley, stopping under a taller building’s overhang as the unremitting rain thundering against the metal roof filled his ears to the brim with noise. A pair of arms wrapped around his middle when he turned away from an older-looking door, making him scream in shock before he was yanked hard inside the brick building.

Tinsley had been released before he fell to the floor, his bad hand hitting the wooden flooring and eliciting a curt curse. A chuckle sounded above him, making the wounded human glance up and meet those hypnotic golden eyes again. He stared for a moment, captivated by their depth before the pain in his hand resurfaced and gripped the palm tight. He looked down at the bloody hand as Ricky turned away and picked up a medical kit on a desk.

The room the two were in was dark and rustic, decorated with dismal paint and wood. The walls were a smokey black color, paired with a dark wooden floor and desk to match. Wooden bookshelves littered the office-like room, stocked full of papers and books with no titles, and when they did have titles they were in Spanish and the woozy man couldn’t translate them as quickly as he wanted to. On the dark desk Ricky was standing next to laid papers stacked in a small pile near a pen, and a few ornaments laid around it. There was a small figurine of a demonic shadow and a statue of twin ghosts circling each other among the decorations. Two leather chairs sat near Tinsley and in front of the desk, obscuring his view to the other ornaments standing there.

“Taking in the view, dollface?” Ricky’s voice snapped his attention back to him, making his gut writhe with annoyance. Tinsley glared up at him, shoving the stinging of his hand out of the way so he could focus on Ricky.

“Don’t call me that, Goldsworth. Where am I?” His voice came out harsh, but it only seemed to make Ricky’s grin grow just a bit more than before. The older man hated his smugness, he hated his smile, and most of all, he hated his goddamn eyes; He couldn’t let him know that he would be hooked on watching them watch him... Tinsley hated them so much because of that.

“Ooo, someone's getting bold again. And here I thought one mark would remind you of what you are to me. Maybe another time we’ll have that same discussion again.” His voice came out as smooth as silk, making Tinsley's shoulders tense and his spine straighten up with prickling unease. The ex-investigator stood up to try and make myself appear bigger than he felt, clutching the still bleeding hand to his chest. His head started to spin from how much of the vibrant, rose-colored liquid he was losing, and his vision was going dark and spotty, making his stutter-step towards the chair nearby.

The shorter looked up at the taller and his dark brows furrowed, his hands dropping some cloth and a bottle of cleaning alcohol to reach for Tinsley's upper arms and sit him down in one of the leather chairs. Said man stared at him unsteadily, unsure if he was planning on ending him or helping out. Ricky stared back, his expression unreadable and his near-glowing eyes intense to stare at. If he was any more tired, he would’ve gasped under the pressure they had, but thank the stars he was still conscious of his surroundings and how screwed he would've been if he did anything of the sorts. He’s seen him at his weakest already; he couldn’t let Ricky know any more cracks in his armor if Tinsley could help it. The dark-haired man turned away to get the cloth and alcohol again, moving back over and gesturing for him to open his hand.

“Though passionate in what you believe in, you’re like a firework, Tinsley; one badly placed spark and off you go to explode. Not always bad, mind you... your anger can be quite nice to watch.” Tinsley was barely listening to him, staring at him cleaning his bloodied hand gently with the stinging rag. He just nodded dumbly as the fiery pain shot up his veins, feeling unfocused until he squeezed his fingers to get the brown-haired individual's attention again. Tinsley looked up and locked eyes with Ricky's once more, hooked on their golden color like a moth were to fire.

“You look tired from losing your job... how about you rest here and sober up until you can figure out what to do with your surface life.” He suggested, his tone turning sour when he reached the last few words. Tinsley raised a brow in astonishment and suspicion.

“A killer inviting someone into their den, saying they’ll be fine; somehow, I think this is a trap where you get to slit my throat.” Tinsley said dryly, a frown etched into his pale face. Ricky rolled his alluring eyes as he finished bandaging the bad hand, tightening it a little in response to his words.

“Why would I waste any of my time on your hand if I was going to kill you anyway?” While he sat there to think it over, Ricky's hand grabbed Tinsley by the upper left arm and pulled him to his wobbling feet. He tripped up at the sudden movement, his arm reaching out around Ricky’s shoulders. Surprisingly, the shorter steadied them both with relative ease and helped the taller to a door behind his desk. Tinsley thought back to his offer before he remembered the words Ricky practically spat out like poison, his lightly buzzed brain wanting more answers about it.

“What do you mean by ‘surface life’?” Tinsley asked belatedly as they limped through a dark wooden hallway. It was mostly barren, save for a long stretching red rug that kept going down the different turns of the labyrinth of halls. He wasn’t going to get out easy, the thought making his stomach drop fast like it was full of lead.

“The world where people play dress up as the good ones of the outdated society. The ones that don’t try to know more of their less-than-favored behaviors. Basically, the ‘good guys’...” He muttered with the fingers of his free hand making air quotes around the words ‘good guys’. Tinsley's nose scrunched up as he thought about that. Those on the upside of society... the supposed good guys that are supposed to be incorruptible... what a load of shit.

“Good guys? Ha, funny.... there’s not that many good people on the surface, or whatever you call it. Only the small people who don’t want more than they can have are good... they’re the only nice ones.” He found himself saying, glancing at Ricky with a half-surprised look due to the fact that the ex-detective was actually agreeing with a serial murderer. Ricky looked a bit surprised as well, glancing at him with barely-veiled awe on his tanned face.

“Huh... I knew you were a good one when you saw you...” He murmured as we walked into a colder room, the lights off and barely lit by the partially covered moon outside. A small window above the twin bed was being pelted with heavy raindrops, blurring the colors of the night into a watercolor painting. Tinsley glanced at Ricky as he sat him on the bed, the weary's mind spiraling with how much he was being told.

“What do you—“

“Hush. We’ll talk more about it later. I’d rather you fully sober than lightly buzzed when we talk about something so precarious. Though... it’s good to know you think like me. It’ll make our next conversation easier.” With that, he turned away and headed out of the room, closing the door and plunging Tinsley into darkness. It didn’t lock thankfully; he wasn’t trapping the man here against his will.

Tinsley sat on the bed dumbly, running through everything he could remember of their mixed-up conversation. He couldn’t wrap his head around all the unanswered questions; why him? What did he mean by any of it? Did he really think like Ricky? Why, why, why? Laying back, the man groaned annoyedly into his good hand before running it through his brown hair, tugging at the strands lightly before letting go with a huff and a muffled thump next to his head. He was too tired and too angry to think clearly, so he wasn’t going to get anywhere without getting more frustrated.

“Fuck it...” Tinsley curled onto his stomach and watched the door, seeing the hall lights shutting off after a few minutes. As time tick-tick-ticked on without ever stopping, he felt himself ease into a pleasant sleep, letting the coolness of the air around him keep him cool as his trenchcoat acted as a blanket. He’d deal with it in the morning.


	7. A Better Vendetta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update, woah—  
> Thanks for the support thus far on this story, it's awesome this community is reading and enjoying my story! :)  
> Have a great rest of your day or night!

With a groan that vibrated in his brain, Tinsley sat up in the dim, cool room, becoming aware that he wasn't in his own bed, or even in his own apartment. Blinking blearily, it all rushed back into the forefront of his mind like the breaking of a water balloon, making him groan again and look at his wrapped left hand. He hadn't been drunk, not even buzzed, but walking in the rain with a heavily bleeding hand coupled with having a stomach partially full of strong liquor ended with a throbbing pain behind the eyes and in the palm. He should leave, before Ricky decided to check in on him and keep him pinned inside his hideout, much like a butterfly stuck inside a glass case.

He moved off the bed with a grunt and adjusted his bloodied trenchcoat back into order before he stepped towards the door and let himself out. The windowless long hallway was dimly lit with table lamps at the two ends of its long stretch, both sides looking infuriatingly identical to the other. With a curt, exasperated exhale of breath, Tinsley went down the left side and followed the narrow path of red carpet down the winding halls. Who the hell needed all these hallways? It was just tiresome in Tinsley's opinion. Unfortunately, the furnished halls led him into the open space of the well-decorated living room and kitchen of the very man he was trying to escape from.

Ricky had his back to him, dressed in clothes that the ex-detective wouldn’t have pinned the serial killer to wear; black night pants and a plain white t-shirt with white socks. He was making coffee by the sound of his clinking against the glass container, with his straight black hair sticking up in places and his shoulders relaxed. If Tinsley didn't know any better, he would've thought the guy he was watching was just a normal man in a very comfy living situation. He knew better though. This man wasn't normal, and the only reason he was living so lavishly was because of his many robberies and rigged gambling wins.

Quietly, Tinsley started to back away into the hall, watching him as he silently moved. This, however, proved to be a pointless venture.

"You've got loud footsteps, C.C., don't try to act like you didn't come in here," Ricky said out of the blue, not even turning his head in the direction of the hallway as he continued to make coffee. With gritted teeth, the had-been detective stepped back into full view and stayed put by the hall entryway. He wasn't going to get anywhere near his possible captor. Ricky gave a little grin over his shoulder as he moved up to the cabinet in front of him to get a black mug, showing of glinting white teeth in the process. "C'mon, sit down and let me see your hand; you crushed that glass like it was a little animal skull."

"You and your damn meta— You know what, no, I'm not getting into that kind of discussion with you. I want to leave with you in handcuffs; maybe then I can finally get some damn shuteye." Tinsley snapped, crossing his arms over his chest before hissing in response to the pinching pain in his hand. Gingerly, he pulled it away from being tucked under his arm and slowly put it on top of the arm, getting an 'I told ya so' look from the serial murderer. "Don't look at me like that."

"Just using my eyes, Tins. Now sit down and let me replace those bandages before your hand starts rotting." Ricky rolled his goldish-dandelion yellow eyes as he poured himself a cup full of a dark liquid from the glass coffee pot. He took a sip even as it steamed, hissing but not reacting much more outside of that. Tinsley watched him as the shorter of the two walked over to a wooden table near the corner of the kitchen. A red box with a white plus sign laid opened on it, full of bandaids and cotton wipes, gauze and low-grade wrappings, sewing needles and thread, and small bottles of painkillers and hydrogen peroxide. An extensive medical kit for a reckless man— how fitting.

Begrudgingly, Tinsley walked over to the second chair across from the one Ricky had sat himself down in, hesitating before sticking out his left hand. Ricky smirked and gave a snort, taking his wrist gently and unwrapping the bloodied wrappings with practiced expertise. He watched him work, his tanned hands moving over his own, and the golden gaze focusing on the healing cuts and slices. After a few more seconds of considering silence (felt like hours with how concentrated Ricky was on his hand), he moved to grab a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and one of the cotton wipes, dashing some of the clear chemical onto the fluffy, white material.

With a muttered warning of ‘this’ll sting’, he started to clean the red cuts, keeping hold Tinsley's pale wrist when the detective instinctively flinched away from and huffed at the bubbling sting on his hand. As he finished up on the wounded appendage, Ricky broke the silence.

"A funny thing about pain; it shows that you're still alive and not dreaming or dead. Then again, who's to say you stop being in pain when you die?" Casually speaking as if he wasn't trying to be philosophical; of course. Tinsley scoffed at him but shrugged his one of his shoulders in some form of agreement.

"That's what Hell and Purgatory are for if you ask a religious person." He flexed his fingers as Ricky wrapped clean bandages around the hand, wrapping from around the wrist to just under the knuckles of the fingers and base of the thumb. The criminal smirked as he looked up and met eyes with the older man with a spark in his irises.

"Are you a religious man, Tinsley? Fear the Almighty and His judgment?"

"Not unless I'm dying do I become religious. A sinner through and through is what many of those folk would call me; you're in the same boat if I had to guess." Tinsley pointed out, sitting back in his chair and trying to get a read on the guy in front of him. Ricky chuckled again, taking his black glass mug of still-steaming coffee into hand and taking a sip. His lips twitched from the burn, but he didn't seem to care. Tinsley raised a brow condescendingly.

"Did your daddy never teach ya how to cool off your drink before you went gulping it down?"

"Yeah, but I don't really care. It's not like getting shot or, I don't know, crushing a drinking glass in my hand," He cackled at the scowl Tinsley gave Ricky, getting up to go make himself something to eat. Ricky continued as he got out a carton of eggs, sitting them down on the counter before he moved down to a floor cabinet next to the sink to get a frying pan. "Besides, it lets me know that I'm still living and breathing in the morning. Grew into it, I suppose."

"Mm," Tinsley grunted in response, looking at him before the carton of eggs. He was hungry, he belatedly realized, but made no effort to acknowledge it (out loud, at least) as Ricky started the stove and sat the black and silver pan on the burner. "Must have no taste buds, if you've been doing that since you started drinking coffee."

"Well, yes and no. I can taste things and tell the difference between flavors, but it all still tastes bland in some way or another. It doesn't really matter in the long run. With the coffee though, I don't have to pinch myself to see if I can feel it. Would be covered in little red marks if I did." Ricky responded as he got out a stick of butter and sliced a sliver of the fatty substance off into the warming pan. It was slowly melting, but not as quickly as it should of on high heat. Upon catching Tinsley staring as he put the stick of butter up, he rolled his eyes and got down two plates. "Don't drool, it's just eggs and a little grease. Nothin' to write home about."

"Whatever. Speaking of home, why did you willingly lead me here? Why let me, a detective that's been chasing your ass for nearly two decades now, into your home?" Tinsley questioned as he carefully crossed his arms, hazel-green eyes focused on Ricky’s face and hand movements. "Surely that can't be a smart idea, especially if you said you weren't going to kill me. I'm still not sure on that point either, but one issue at a time, I guess."

"Let me enlighten you, ex-detective. One, it's super damn obvious you just want to find me, it being apart of your job or not. Two, this isn't my actual home, just a retreat. And three, I had originally planned on letting you leave yourself... when I called you in here, I could've pretended not to hear you and let you go. Then I'd leave town before you managed to report my location. But last night, you said something that caught my interest more so than usual. How the only good people are those who don't have power over others; we agreed to that." Ricky stared at the pan as cracked a few eggs onto its hot and greased surface.

Tinsley vaguely remembered their discussion, and something in his gut kinda flipped like he was excited. Whether it was because he was finally being honest with himself about how the system was so corrupt or that someone agreed with him on the first point, he didn't know. He didn't want to examine either explanation any further for the time being.

"That's why I didn't let you skip out on me. I wanted to hear how you really felt about the world on top," He continued, grabbing a spatula from a drawer next to the stove before scrambling the eggs. "There's a lot of grey area out there in the world, but there's also a lot of black and white. The top just uses those who can't defend themselves, and when they try to get help, supposed good guys turn their back on them."

"Some of that's true, but not entirely. Corrupt as the world may be, not everyone is against everyone else." Tinsley muttered, using his good hand to stroke his chin and his jaw. Ricky gave a nod, letting the jobless man further his point. "I've seen the worst the world has to offer, both inside and outside of the force. There are more good people than those phantoms."

"Still, the power of the few is more concentrated and makes it worse on those who don't have the means to defend themselves," Ricky said and finally looked at him with a serious, almost pleading, look on his younger face. "...I speak as someone who does what I do because of those few."

"Killing two teens sneaking out to see each other isn't—"

"Those two I had stalked for a long time. They weren't just planning on meeting, they were planning on leaving and stealing their parents' money. They would've made the four parents lose everything, including their children and the good memories of them." Ricky cut in hotly, glaring at him now instead of just vying for Tinsley's understanding. "Don't you get it? I'm much more than some villain that your old chief makes out of me."

Tinsley scoffed but did nothing to correct Ricky. He sat back in his chair as the quiet sizzling of the scrambled eggs filled the pause in the conversation. It wasn't until after Ricky had made them both plates of cheesy eggs and sat them down in front of their respective seats did he finally resume their debate. Though, he did sneak a bite of the salted and cheesy dish for a few more seconds of contemplation.

"Ok. So let's say that you’re the good guy here and not just some killer; what are you trying to get at here? Cut to the meat of your point for once, Goldsworth." Tinsley said as he looked the serial killer in the eye. Ricky tilted his head with a raise of his left brow, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing and chuckling a bit.

"You've obviously wanted to know me inside out— why else would you quit your job to find me on your own instead of letting anyone else help you or, god forbid, take over your case? Either you've got a bad case hubris when it comes to investigating, or you’re downright obsessed with me and my work. I tend to believe it’s the latter of those two." Well... right on with ripping the bandaid off. Tinsley shouldn't have been so speechless; it couldn't be that accurate, surely? It couldn't... unless. Ah, fuck it.

"...fine, you've got me. You're the most interesting criminal I've ever come into contact with. You're so damn confusing. The first time we meet, you etch your name into my collarbone, then you drag me back to my hotel room instead of just offing me right there. When I get kidnapped, you’re suddenly there to rescue me instead of letting the psycho end our game of cat and mouse. What do you want? Why are you like this? Why me?" Tinsley breathed in sharply after spilling all of his frustrations out into the open air between them, his throat tightening as he realized the weight of his confession.

The only sound after that was their breathing and Ricky's fork gently clinking against the glass plate as he put it down. Ricky stared at him, finally looking pleased with the turn their debate had taken. He pulled his chair closer to Tinsley's and looked him square in the eye.

"You interested me... you’re not as normal as everyone around us is. You can see my perspective and agree with it... yet you fight it because it's not the way you were taught to believe. What a way the world works, huh?" With a begrudging nod from Tinsley, the dark-haired man leaned a bit into his space and kept solid eye contact. Now or never. "C'mon, Tinsley; you've got nothing holding you back anymore. You can finally see why I do what I do without being strangled by the moral compasses of other people. See why for yourself and judge me properly then. What do you say?"

In the past, Tinsley would've thoroughly denied him right on the spot and maybe even slapped him for trying to make him question his beliefs. Now... now was different. He saw the ugly injustice of the force because of his position on the inside, saw everything, and heard it all. Heard what his old officers thought of him, and how his chief didn't trust him anymore. On the same hand, he could now get all his questions answered without having to act like a professional to get them. With a few minutes of thought, the answer was out in the world.

**"Show me."**


	8. Swallow Your Pride (And Some Gunpowder For Good Measure)

Months.

Or years.

It was hard to tell the difference these days for Chief Mistlow. For her, it was near impossible to discern which felt longer between months and years. How long had it been since she saw his smile, or even his face, really? Could've that day had really been the last she saw of him, leaving only that stressed and betrayed look on the detective's long face in her memory? A man she had come to think of a close friend before Hell hit them over their heads?

It had been a while since he vanished. But he didn't stay hidden for very long. The federal agents that had come to help with the investigations could only build a profile of the monster they already knew yet didn't have a clear picture of. They stayed for a while after they had hit the same roadblocks Tinsley did, maybe near a month before something finally changed. More deaths in the area before disappearing and picking up three states over. Too many for Ricky's usual two maximum kills per case, three if he was feeling excited or angry. A partner was suggested to have joined the fray, one that knew how to disappear and clear more evidence then Ricky ever knew how to. Mistlow had felt sick when she figured it out one night after tucking her youngest child into bed. She had been going through old records afterward, waiting up for her husband to return home from his late-hour occupation. File after file on the elusive killer showed no obvious sign of who the partner could be. She had been sitting back to think, her throat coated with red wine from the glass that was half empty next to her. Mistlow ran over everything from the very beginning of this drawn-out case she inherited when she rose up to Chief. One person caught her train of thought as she read, one name she hadn't heard nor spoke of until that night.

"Clairbourne..." She croaked in a near whisper, her stormy green eyes widening as she dove back into Tinsley's written files that had been nearly buried under the FBI agents’ own notes. He would know how to hide his tracks, would know law enforcement inside and out. With Ricky's fox-like cunning... they would be a deadly duo. "...No, C.C., no..."

That had been two months ago. Now... the situation was much worse than any realization Mistlow could ever come to. The plan had been so, so simple, and would've kept everyone safe, even the two partners in crime. She had set it up, lying through her teeth to Tinsley over the phone and tugging at every loose heartstring left in his moral compass. She sobbed after the call, hearing him but not the man she had come to appreciate and worry about. He might've been a few years older than her, more deserving of being Chief back in the old days, but she cared for him like he was her brother; whether younger or older wasn't possible to confirm.

"It's just me, Clairbourne... no police, no agents, just... Skylar Mistlow, one of the bright-eyed recruits you helped train in school. Not a Chief or an officer, just me. Please, Clairbourne... it's been so long since we spoke looking at each other face to face." She had said, meaning all but the 'no police, no agents' part. The silence was more deafening through the wooshing wind of static on the line of her phone. She could've broken more if his voice (god, he sounded so scared and angry; why did she do this to him? To them both?) didn't sound at all.

"...Fine, Mistlow... but my partner is joining us. To make sure you don't get any ideas. You get fifteen minutes with us, then we're gone. You don't want either of us to lose our cool if you try anything, got it?" It wasn't a question. Skylar blinked slowly as she breathed a quiet sigh (not as quiet as she had thought, she would later reflect on; had he known she was lying? If he did, he came anyway. They both did...) before she had responded with an 'Understood' in a surprisingly steady voice, a feat she later couldn't replicate in the flesh.

That had been a week and a half ago. When she had walked into the park near the outskirts of the city she had come to call her home (it was so much bigger than her little town in a dead-end part of her old state— how did she get here?), she was wearing a navy blue jacket that concealed her dark purple shirt. She opted out of getting her bulletproof vest on, saying they would know what was up because of how noticeable it looked under her clothes. So, armed and protected with only her hope and a cold weapon, the aging woman settled down onto a park bench and stared at the waxing moon high above her head. Her backup was on standby, hiding and disguised in plan sight to fool their targets. A tap on her shoulder gave her a scare, but she merely tensed before looking up further to see... a yellow-eyed man in dark grey and black clothing staring back down at her. He grinned, a wolfish thing with a bloodthirst she compared to a starving dog.

"Hello there, Misty. Fancy seeing you here." He said smoothly as he moved past her to sit next to her, his eyes never leaving hers. She said nothing for a moment, her jaw tightening. He was alone with her, so it seemed; not a good sign.

"Where's Tinsley, Goldsworth."

"Demanding still after all this time. And here I thought you'd be a weak chief after your best detective quit on you. Losing him was a loss on your part. He's a delight, much happier than he ever was when he was under your corrupt views." Ricky chuckled as he tilted his head to the side and he stared at Mistlow. Her green eyes narrowed as he snorted smugly and spoke again. "He's around, watching, listening. Just like how your guys are in the buildings in front of us. You're a terrible liar, and possibly a stupid optimist. You really think we'd trust you?"

"I wasn't lying about wanting to see him. I wanted to know why he joined you. I want to know what..." She didn't dare finish the thought, knowing both her reinforcements and Tinsley would hear just how selfish this dangerous meet up was. Who didn't self-indulge now and again, especially when it's driven by grief and guilt?

"I can tell. You're looking about ready to cry with me being here and not him. But it's not just to see if he's ok, is it? It's to see how badly you fucked yourself over, and see if you can quietly bring him home in cuffs. Isn't that right? Like a good corrupt Chief, you put your superiors’ and your own wants first. Never the selfless ones, just the selfish." Ricky whispered in her ear harshly, sneering angrily at her through sharp eyes of desert sunshine. Mistlow looked away and blinked away her tears, her face set sternly but her armor breaking apart obviously. The criminal smirked as though he had won, but it didn't last long. From behind, a gun cocked and shot off, a throaty scream a background noise to the roar of rushing adrenaline in Mistlow's ears. Both her and Ricky dived down and rushed away from each other and the incoming bombardment of gunfire. When she turned her head upon hearing Ricky’s screaming, she saw him dragging someone up and running away with them. Whoever it was (Tinsley?) was shooting up at the incoming officers and the ones in the window, killing a few and downing a great chunk of the rest. Mistlow just barely escaped a bullet aimed at her, panting hard as she hid behind a tree.

"FALL BACK, WHAT HAVE YOU ALL DONE!!?" She screamed to those still alive on the ground, her eyes catching Ricky and a tall form running away. Against her better judgment, she followed them silently, disappearing in the chaos of flying bullets and screaming. Dodging behind trees and foilage and tailing far behind was easy, following them once they were in a car was harder. Desperate to follow, she ran back to her vehicle in the parking lot just two minutes off from where the two criminals had hidden their own. She quickly got in and drove off in a frenzy, eyes wild and teary as she fought to follow the escaping convicts. It took almost ten minutes before she finally found their car, breathing a ragged breath of relief while following the pair as discreetly as she could until she couldn't hide anymore. Mistlow watched the pair pull into an abandoned lot of an old building, her body stiffening at the sight of Ricky picking up Tinsley's pale form and running inside. She stayed frozen for God knows how long before throwing more of her caution to the wolves and getting out and rushing inside.

It was a two-story building made of crumbling concrete and mossy brick, full of dust and stale air that had the officer coughing into her arm. She armed her gun and rushed upstairs to check the second floor first, her pupils small as she searched the inky blackness around her. After an eternity of tense silence that made her ears start ringing early on, she found no trace of the two men she had followed in. Cursing quietly, Mistlow rushed back downstairs and checked the ground floor carefully, silent and trying not to cough from how hard the air was on her lungs. She heard crying distantly, a hopeless sob that made her briefly pause and wonder what the hell happened to the crier.

Following the broken song of sobbing, she found a wide-open iron door leading down into a colder but more lit up stairwell. Slowly and quietly, she descended into the nightmare below the ground. Briefly, she wondered if the creaking of the stairs was in her head or real, but reasoned that it was out loud and that she could be walking into a trap. The sobbing stopped a few minutes before she made it halfway down the stairs, so she stayed alert all the way down into the basement. The doorway in front of her was wide open and quiet, void of any figures and showing a room full of what looked to be flooding water. She made a quick glance from just outside the room before stepping in and looking around with her gun pointed out, her eyes narrowed and nervous. It smelled strongly of gasoline; it was her only clue.

Quicker than her eyes could catch, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her neck and squeezed, making her elicit a strangled scream and drop her only stong weapon of self-defense. With a grunt, she headbutted her assailant’s face and kicked back at his leg and knee. That made him let go with an angry yowl, giving her time to breathe and scramble away to find her gun. She had been a hair's width away from grabbing the handle when she was tackled to the right of it by a much heavier and stronger Ricky Goldsworth. With a terrified scream, she scratched at his neck and eyes, trying ram her knees into his back while she writhed underneath his weight. He moved back just enough to escape her scratching and hand biting, the opportunity glaring at her. She twisted Ricky off her and reached for the gun, but a tanned hand hit it and sent it just out of her reach again. With a frustrated and scared whine, Mistlow elbowed Ricky away from her and scrambled on her hands and knees for the gun, only pausing for a brief moment at the sight of—

Ricky barreled into her, sending them closer to the gun. Hands went scrambling for it as bodies wrestled to pin the other to the gasoline-soaked ground of the basement. Adrenaline ran high and terror soared until fate decided who would win their fatal struggle.

**BANG**


	9. End of Things

With a shot to the gut, Ricky spat his bloodied saliva onto the concrete ground of the desolate building, golden eyes pinned to the shivering, weakened body of the chief of police. Shoving her off didn't take much effort, and she went with a sputtering grunt, much to Ricky's disgust. He stood up and cocked her cold gun with a resonating click. Mistlow looked at him as he aimed his weapon at the explosive container of gasoline a few feet from her leg, her vision swimming from how lightheaded she was getting; she would've lasted minutes until she passed out under any other circumstances, but now she only had seconds with her life in Ricky's shaking hands.

"You don't want to do this... Tinsley wouldn't want you dead... if you even cared about what he wanted." She croaked out before spitting up crimson with a pained sob, shivering again as she stared at him. Ricky narrowed his eyes at her, scowling as he furiously wiped away his residual tears and blood from his tanned face; the wrong assumption.

"This may not be what he wanted to happen to me, but at least I gave a damn about what he wanted. You? Oh, you couldn't give less of shit about him, Misty. But hey, that's enough talk." Ricky snapped as Mistlow just looked up at him from the floor, her dark navy jacket and violet shirt soaking up the gasoline on the floor and blood from the hole in her stomach. It was obvious her plea wouldn't be listened to by this suicidal man, a man with nothing to live for anymore. She just hoped her husband would know that she would be fine after the flames swallowed her whole and took her where no human could know of. Her children though... she blinked back more tears of regret and fear as she swallowed and tried to put them both to peace.

"I wish we had met before this happened... before you thought killing was the only way to get a change to happen, or even before you decided that this is the end. Before... Before Tinsley died." The chief muttered as she laid her head down against the cold concrete, her brow covered in sweat and her face becoming soaked in salty tears. Ricky glanced away and stared at the lifeless body of his lover, his friend, in the corner of the room, blinking slowly as their last night replayed before his teary eyes of gold.

_Tinsley had been only a few feet behind Ricky and Mistlow when a rogue cop had snuck in and aimed for his chest while he stood obliviously. Unfortunately, his aim was terrible and it got the surprised detective-turned-criminal to scream in panic and pain. Before he started to really feel the pain, he took out his gun and shot the officer clear in the throat, his strength making him fall to his knees as gunfire rained. His senses dulled and time became hazy, but he felt himself be picked up by the same arms that held him in private. The trusting arms of his lover that protected him always. Gaining a second wind, Tinsley gave a grunt and took scary aim at the officers following them, the satisfaction of killing a few of them the only thing keeping him from utterly passing out and on right away. He stopped shooting after a minute of running, his strength slowly starting to diminish as he was put into the stolen car Ricky managed to swipe._

_The entire ride was spent with his shorter partner holding his hand tightly and making him talk and keep his ever-increasing heavy eyelids open. When they got to some random place outside of town, Ricky picked him up and rushed him through the dark of the night into the deeper dark of the building, moving deeper and deeper in until a door was found. Without much hesitation, Ricky flicked on a thankfully still working light in the stairwell and went down, rushing into the basement and towards a hidden corner._

_"You're going to be fine, I promise, just breathe and keep your eyes open." Ricky was stumbling around to put a limp Tinsley on the ground with his back propped up against a stone wall, scrambling to find something that could save his partner. When he tried to move away though, a weak-gripped hand fastened around his wrist, coaxing him into staying right next to Tinsley. When he looked over to him, Tinsley was smiling wearily at him; it was coming. It was inevitable._

_"Stay right here... I want you right here..." His voice was as frail and breakable as he looked, what with his paler-than-it-should-be skin and bloodied stomach. With a weak mumble of a concession, the dark-haired murderer sat down next to Tinsley and snaked his arm around his waist, gentle and careful. Tinsley leaned his head onto Ricky's while he in turn laid his head on the dying's shoulder. They stayed like that for a time, coming to their own conclusions and tearful acceptances. Then Tinsley spoke._

_"I want you to do what you can when I'm gone... I want you to make a difference, more than we ever could..."_

_"I can't... the only change I've ever made was when you came into my life... I can't..."_

_"...Then do what you have to... we'll see each other later on if that's possible..." Tinsley coughed wetly into the wall next to him, starting to go looser, limper. Not long. Ricky moved his head up and kissed Tinsley's cheek and stayed pressed there, crying silently as he took in the last traces of warmth in. "I love you, Ricky..."_

_"I love you too, Clairbourne... I love you so much... do one last thing for me."_

_"Mm..?"_

Ricky looked back at the barely conscious woman on the ground and tilted his head as he put his finger on the trigger. Mistlow closed her eyes as she said her silent goodbye through quiet tears.

"Say hi to God for me."

**BANG**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read my first ever official story for our community! <3 A lot of amazing folks on the BFU Amino helped encourage me to start and finish this little story, even talking with me about how certain portions of the plot should go.
> 
> Credit for certain titles and inspirations:  
> -"Dance, Dance" by Fall Out Boy  
> -"The End Of All Things" by Panic! At The Disco  
> -"Dead Girl Walking (Reprise)" and "I Am Damaged" from Heathers: The Musical  
> (For this last one, I had already originally wanted to end everyone, but had no idea how. This was very fundamental in deciding what to do, so full credit to this beautiful musical I was introduced to during a writing block. Thank you again for introducing it to me, LMBorden! :D)


End file.
